


The Jedi Knight's Guide to Interpersonal Communication

by Quarra



Series: The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Kenobi and the Vod'e don't show up in this fic, But they are refered to, Dooku/Sifo-Dyas (background) - Freeform, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family is a complicated thing sometimes, Feemor Needs a Hug (Star Wars), Feemor is torn on the subject, Gen, Jedi Culture, Jedi Master Dooku (Star Wars), Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Mando Ben Kenobi, Maybe - Freeform, Other, Qui-Gon Jinn is a Bad Dad, Qui-Gon Jinn/Tahl (background), Temple Gossip, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra
Summary: Knight Feemor returns from his latest mission, only to discover that he has become unexpectedly popular. There were several waiting messages on his comm.None of them are from his old Master, despite the fact that Feemor had been away on a mission for months.Weirdly, some of the messages wereaboutMaster Qui-Gon. That had made Feemor mighty curious. What the sith-hells had happened while he’d been away?
Relationships: Dooku & Feemor (Star Wars), Feemor & Qui-Gon Jinn, Feemor & Sifo-Dyas, Feemor & Xanatos
Series: The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830226
Comments: 68
Kudos: 552





	The Jedi Knight's Guide to Interpersonal Communication

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antigrav_vector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/gifts).



> Many people expressed interest in the comments of the main fic about Jedi culture and what was going on with the rest of Dooku’s lineage, so here’s a little aside, set just after Chapter 43 of The 212th Attack Battalion’s Guide to Staging Rescues. A lot of it is stuff Grav and I talked about and thought up, but didn’t fit into the main fic. It does lead in nicely to some of the stuff that will come up later, so here you go! 
> 
> Grav also did me the wonderful favor of proof reading this, for which I am endlessly grateful. Thank you!

Jedi Knight Feemor dropped his bag onto the floor of his small sitting room with a grateful sigh, and then looked longingly at the chair next to it.

That last mission was…

Well, it was done, that’s what it was. And not a minute too soon. Feemor knew that the vast majority of missions that Jedi were assigned weren’t easy; some certainly were worse than others, though. 

_Shower. With real water. Hot water. Then sleep. Then food. Maybe food, then sleep_ , he thought to himself.

He’d been out of the Temple for weeks, so he knew damn well that there wasn’t anything perishable in his kitchen. There were some frozen foods he could heat up, or the sealed goods in the pantry. Either would be better than braving the commissary or one of the cantinas in the Temple. Kriff leaving to go out and get food. He was too tired.

If he had been a more social type of person, he might have had someone waiting for him with a hot meal. He’d heard that this happened with other knights or masters. Getting to see a friendly face after a long mission was an unofficial custom.

For most Jedi, anyways. Feemor wasn’t one of them. Unlike his very dramatic lineage, he tended to fade into the background of any event. Conversation flowed around him rather than including him. The white sheep in a family of peacocks. 

The thought made him cackle quietly.

It wasn’t so bad. He enjoyed having quiet time to himself and didn’t often seek out the company of others when it wasn’t mission related. 

Sometimes, though… It might have been nice to share a homecoming meal with a friend. While he was on friendly terms with several knights and masters, there wasn’t really anyone he felt like imposing on for a late evening casual meal.

This ridiculous train of thought was to blame for the urge; he didn’t bother checking his comm until after his shower. Who would comm him? 

Certainly not Master Qui-Gon. Feemor had made it through his padawanship, and passed his trials, competently if not spectacularly. Afterwards, Master Qui-Gon had touched base with him a few times, but had mostly left Feemor to struggle through his first years of knighthood independently. Once Master Qui-Gon had apprenticed Xanatos, even those sporadic check ins stopped. 

In the privacy of his own thoughts, Feemor allowed himself the luxury of stinging bluntness and somewhat bitter regret. 

Qui-Gon had trained him well and had taught him so much. He had also been a bit of a dick, in retrospect. The worst part was, Feemor could effortlessly tell that he hadn’t even meant to be. Praise had been hard to come by and tasks punishingly difficult. Some efforts were made to bring some joy to Feemor’s life, but they were sporadic at best. Likely, only happening when Qui-Gon remembered that he had a child in his care and not an inexperienced fellow knight.

 _Kriff_.

Feemor rubbed his face and stirred the half-frozen soup slowly melting on the burner in his tiny kitchen. He must be tired. He was feeling grumpy and uncharitable.

Master Qui-Gon had done his best. Feemor knew this. And he’d turned out fine. Mostly fine. 

He looked around at his empty kitchen and thought wistfully of the stories he’d heard of other lineages having family dinners together after long months away. 

With a deep breath, he released that feeling to the Force and concentrated on his soup. It wasn’t like Master Qui-Gon and his smartass new padawan were his only options. He could comm Master Yoda.

An involuntary shudder raced through his body at the thought of Master Yoda fixing him a welcome home meal. 

Nope. Bad idea. 

It was almost happenstance that Feemor glanced at his comm on the way to his sitting room. 

He did a double take. It was blinking with missed messages. 

Likely, it was just the Council, waiting for his return report. 

Surely.

He detoured to grab his comm and tossed it down on an end table while he ate his soup right out of the pot. Curiosity gave him new vigor; before he knew it, the soup was gone and he was staring at that blinking light. 

Four messages. 

_Four_.

For a moment, he worried that something disastrous had happened. But nothing in the Force suggested that, and Feemor had a pretty good sense of those sorts of things. 

He frowned.

Might as well get it over with.

The first one turned out to be from Master Plo Koon.

_Knight Feemor, I know that you are away on a mission right now. When you have a free moment once you’re back in the Temple, I was wondering if you would be available to meet with me for some tea?_

Feemor felt his eyebrows rising with every word. What in the karking sith-hells did a High Councilor want with him?

_I recently had the pleasure of attending to a mission with your old master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and your padawan-brother, Xanatos._

Ah. Here it comes. 

Feemor sighed.

_I feel that your old master and padawan-brother might be in need of some additional support, and I was hoping that I might be able to call upon your lineage to aid in that matter. Please comm me to let me know when you are available. --Master Plo Koon_

Feemor rubbed his face. 

Master Qui-Gon was more likely to launch himself out of an airlock than to accept unrequested help. The man was proud and stubborn; a frustrating combination.

And Xanatos…

Well. Xanatos was not Feemor’s favorite person. Though Feemor would never dare to even whisper the thought to someone else, he’d secretly believed that Xanatos would have been much better off with a master more inclined toward graciousness and modesty. Someone perhaps a bit more self-effacing. 

Not that Master Qui-Gon was ostentatious. Certainly not, especially not in his manner of dress. But he certainly had the attitude, at times. It came out more when he was stressed. 

Force, but Xanatos could use a dose of humility and a master who would enforce it. 

Feemor didn’t know what Master Koon thought that he could do about the whole affair. Master Qui-Gon would just look at him like the less-experienced knight he was and then condescend. Maybe spout some proverbs. And then he would continue to mildly spoil Xanatos (as he never had with Feemor, a traitorous part of him whispered) and feed the idiot child’s delusions of self importance. 

Feemor sighed, and clicked the next message.

This one actually made him smile a bit.

_Welcome home, Knight Feemor. Be sure to requisition new boots before you leave on your next mission and pack an extra pair. Avoid any suggestions to dye your hair. --Master Sifo-Dyas_

Feemor had been getting messages like this from Master Sifo-Dyas since he’d first been apprenticed to Master Qui-Gon. He was fairly sure that Master Sifo-Dyas was in some kind of relationship with Feemor’s grandmaster, Master Dooku. They were very subtle about it. But Feemor was very observant, and very quiet. 

In the early days of Feemor’s padawanship, Master Dooku would invite him and Master Qui-Gon over to share in the occasional meal. More often than not, Master Sifo-Dyas would be there as well. Sometimes Master Rael would be, too. 

Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku did not get along terribly well. Their viper sting ‘discussions’ over the dining table made Feemor grateful that he got along with Master Qui-Gon as well as he did. While the two of them verbally prodded each other, Master Sifo-Dyas would make polite small talk with Feemor and Rael, if he was present. 

Feemor had always appreciated that effort. More so when he was older and could more easily arrange the situation so that Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku were busy driving each other insane. He was almost one hundred percent sure that Master Sifo-Dyas saw the manipulation for what it was and also found it as hilarious as Feemor did. To Feemor’s knowledge, Master Qui-Gon never caught on. Based on the occasional dry look he got from Master Dooku, he thought the older master at least suspected. 

Perhaps it was just Master Sifo-Dyas’ friendship with Master Dooku in action, but he’d always offered extra support to anyone in Master Dooku’s lineage. Maybe it was the fact that Master Sifo-Dyas had never taken any padawans of his own and thus needed to get the motherhenning out somehow. It wasn’t that he offered his aid to all padawans and knights. Feemor knew for a fact that none of his other crèchemates had been so singled out.

Either way, it meant that Feemor could expect messages like this from Master Sifo-Dyas from time to time. He was a Seer; nearly all of his suggestions had proved to be useful to Feemor, so far. 

The fact that Master Sifo-Dyas reached out at all to offer such information warmed Feemor to his toes. _Someone_ had bid him welcome home. 

Before he could forget, he sent in the request for additional boots to the Temple quartermaster, and typed out a quick thank you to Master Sifo-Dyas.

That task done, he settled in to listen to the rest of his unexpected bounty of messages. 

The third was from Master Dooku. That was… mildly surprising. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Master Dooku had always been invested in their lineage, albeit distantly due to his and Master Qui-Gon’s personality clashes. 

_My Dear Grandpadawan,_

Not an unusual salutation, given Master Dooku. It still made Feemor huff in amusement. Force, but Master Dooku and Master Qui-Gon had some very intrinsic differences. Master Qui-Gon would have just used his name, or written ‘Padawan’. Or most likely of all, simply stated his wants and forgotten to address or sign the message.

_It has occurred to me that I haven’t reached out recently to see how you’ve been faring. I have been indefinitely assigned as liaison to Mandalore -- a situation that I would have never dreamed possible a few months ago, but now find to be most agreeable -- so I am afraid that I cannot request an appointment for tea. Comms and holos will have to suffice until we can arrange a visit._

Feemor was glad that he was alone in his apartment because he physically could not stop his jaw from dropping. What the kark? Had his stern grandmaster sent him a comm… just to chat? 

Also, Master Dooku as a permanent liaison? He was a skilled speaker and diplomat, sure. Feemor had no doubt that he could do the job. It was just… everything that he knew about his grandmaster said that Master Dooku would much rather be out ‘effecting change’ as he liked to say. Or maybe off digging through some ancient Sith temple. Or literally anything other than talking to politicians all day.

_I find the Mandalorians surprisingly refreshing in their forward manner and I’ve had the unexpected pleasure of finding a good sparring partner while I’m here. To my pleasure, Master Sifo-Dyas and an initiate, young Obi-Wan Kenobi, have been allowed to join me here for a time._

The feeling of _what the shit_ redoubled. Master Sifo-Dyas? Traveling to _Mandalore_? With an initiate?

What the sith-hells had even happened in the last few months? Feemor had heard about something going on with the Mandalorians and knew that his grandmaster had been involved somehow. Feemor was also at least half sure that whatever new intel had been spawned from the initial encounter had spurred his own recent mission. 

_I confess, both Master Sifo-Dyas and I are considering the initiate as our next padawan. I would ceed the honor to Master Sifo-Dyas in an instant, were he certain of the choice. The punishing nature of his visions might not allow it. Time will tell, I suppose. Initiate Obi-Wan is still quite young. In the normal course of events, he wouldn’t even be eligible for choosing and being chosen by a master for another three years._

The child was _five_? As far as Feemor knew, Master Dooku was allergic to anyone under the age of twelve. 

Well, that settled things. The moment he had a chance, he was going to go poke his nose into the crèches to see what, or who, had caught Master Dooku and Master Sifo-Dyas’ attention.

For that matter, the wording of that part of the message was interesting. ‘In the normal course of events’. That implied that Master Dooku expected that things would not go normally. 

_I hope all is well with you, and I look forward to hearing from you. Sincerely, Jedi Master Yan Dooku_

Feemor stared at his comm as possibilities whirled through his head. Master Dooku had hinted at a _lot_ of interesting facts. Alliance with Mandalore. A skilled Mandalorian dueling partner. A talented young initiate who was given leave to go visit, accompanied by a High Councilor. That last bit could have been incidental, but somehow Feemor didn’t think it was. 

He clicked on his last message.

_Knight Feemor, I’m glad to hear that you made it safely home. After you’ve settled yourself back into the Temple, please schedule a meeting with the High Council. We’d like to discuss your mission findings directly. Thank you. --Master Mace Windu_

That was only mildly surprising. It was the debrief request that he’d been expecting; he just hadn’t thought that he’d be summoned to the High Council for it. Master Windu was an interesting choice as well. He was not Feemor’s regular point of contact with the Council, nor was he someone that Feemor knew with any kind of familiarity.

Feemor sat back into his mildly uncomfortable couch as he mulled his messages over. He’d always meant to get a better one, but had never found the time in between missions. As he never entertained, he had no one to impress but himself, so interior decorating often fell by the wayside.

He wanted to lay down and sleep for a solid week. 

No. What he _really_ wanted was to find out what the kriff was going on. Three out of his four messages were from people associated with his lineage. For any other knight, that would be a coincidence. But Feemor almost never got messages from anyone, lineage included.

So why the sudden rush, and why now?

The most logical thing would be to immediately arrange a meeting with Master Koon. Or perhaps directly comm his grandmaster. As tempting as those options were, they would only get him part of the story, and quite possibly, not even the most important part. Besides, Feemor had an excuse to set up calls and meetings with them already. Now was the time for more covert information gathering.

Master Koon had discovered something concerning on his mission with Master Qui-Gon and Xanatos. On Mandalore. Master Dooku was currently and indefinitely stationed on Mandalore. Master Sifo-Dyas was also on Mandalore. 

Feemor wracked his brain for a moment and then double checked some information on his comm. 

Master Windu had visited Mandalore, too. 

Feemor frowned, and considered all that he’d learned in his last several weeks of digging around.

Sleep was good. He would need some eventually. 

But right now he had something more important to investigate. And from the looks of things, coming at this problem head on could possibly net him attention that he didn’t want.

Better to slip into this mess sideways and see what he could see before anyone even thought to check for him.

After all, if there was one thing Feemor was good at, it was being overlooked. 

\--

His first stop was one that wouldn’t be questioned by anyone used to the normal flow of Temple life. For Feemor personally, it was almost unheard of, especially in the past couple of years. It also probably wasn’t a wise idea to visit Master Qui-Gon before having a chance to sleep and mentally fortify himself against the experience.

He was going to do it anyways. The possibility for new information was worth the hardship.

 _Not more than two hours back in the Temple, and I’m already making more work for myself_. 

He shook his head and knocked on Master Qui-Gon’s door. It was after latemeal, so he expected that his old master was in suite, probably nagging Xanatos about his homework. 

“Feemor,” Master Qui-Gon said in surprise once he’d opened the door.

“Master,” Feemor said with a weary smile and a bow. 

He was one of the few people who could easily look Master Qui-Gon in the eye, being just a bare inch shorter than him. That was where the similarities ended. Feemor was broader in the shoulders and chest, solid where Master Qui-Gon was wiry. Feemor’s hair was dishwater blond and his skin was tan, while Master Qui-Gon had burnished chesnut locks accenting pale skin. Master Qui-Gon had always fancied long hair and a full beard, while Feemor kept clean shaven and left his hair in an unremarkable mop. 

Years of practice had him instinctively shifting his body language to make him look a bit smaller and non-threatening. He did it all the time. 

At first, it had been a way to make the other initiates who were smaller than him feel less intimidated. Then as time rolled on, Feemor found the misdirection useful. His posture and manner were a weapon in his arsonal, and being underestimated was a boon more often than not. 

It helped that he knew how to throw off that mien of timidity on command. Nothing was quite as funny to him as the look of surprise that people got when he went from ‘unassuming’ to ‘tank in the road, good kriffing luck getting through’. 

If Master Qui-Gon knew that he wore his posture like a mask, then he’d never given any indication of it. That little fact almost made Feemor sad. His master should be the person in all the galaxy who knew him best. 

He shoved the thought aside.

“I brought tea things?” he half-asked, half-stated, as he held up a bag of hastily assembled items from his room. “I’d only just gotten back in from a mission-- I don’t want to impose, if you’re busy…”

Master Qui-Gon shook his head and smiled gently. “No, no, come in, padawan. We’ve already finished our latemeal, but there is extra and you’re welcome to it.”

Feemor gave him a grateful smile and stepped in at Master Qui-Gon’s prompting. 

The main sitting room was just as he remembered it: covered in plants, and with half-empty mugs left in the oddest of places. Xanatos was at the dining table with an array of flimsi and data pads strewn about, clearly deep into some assignment or other. 

“Hey, padawan-brother,” Feemor said with a warm smile. It was at least seventy percent fake; the trick to pulling off sincerity with Force users was to focus on that last thirty percent that was true.

And the true part was that this was a strange kind of homecoming. Familiar in ways that were both pleasant and painful. 

Master Qui-Gon puttered around the kitchen, gathering cups and serving up Feemor a bowl of whatever stew had been created that day. Stew was common in these rooms. Easy to make, effortlessly tasty, and lots of leftovers. All important qualities to Master Qui-Gon.

“How’s it going, farmer?” Xanatos said with a cocky grin, dropping his pen to the table. 

Ahhh, Xanatos du Crion. Ever so proud of his aristocratic bloodline, despite how little it meant in the Jedi Temple. That bloodline showed in his appearance. Feemor knew from listening carefully to the Temple gossip that Xanatos was prone to breaking hearts left and right in the padawan ranks. He had long, glossy black hair, striking blue eyes, and thin, delicate features just sharp enough to be masculine. Every time Feemor caught sight of him, he was shooting up in inches. No doubt he’d be just as tall as Feemor was, if only because that was how the galaxy worked. 

Feemor did not introduce Xanatos’ face to the table, nor did he show even a hint of reaction to the dig at Feemor’s humble beginnings. That would only encourage bad behavior and reflect poorly on him.

“Xanatos, be polite,” Master Qui-Gon said with audible amusement. 

“Yes, Master,” Xanatos said with answering humor.

And that was it. 

That was all. 

Feemor took a long, slow, calming inhale that was effortlessly turned into a yawn. If _he’d_ offered a guest disrespect like that, Master Qui-Gon would have had him meditating in the corner for hours. 

But Xanatos was the apple of Master Qui-Gon’s eye. Talented, strong willed, and confident. 

A bowl of soup was gently pushed in front of him. 

“Thank you,” Feemor said gratefully, and worked on steadily inhaling the meal. He’d already eaten, but kark, he could eat again. As they said, sleep was food, food was sleep. Can’t have one, then get the other. 

So focused was he on his meal that he hadn’t even noticed that Master Qui-Gon had taken his offering of tea and brewed them all a cup, until the freshly steeped beverage was placed in front of him. It was a somewhat rare herbal tea, something that Feemor had in stock already and guessed that Master Qui-Gon might enjoy. A good bribe in exchange for the late night admittance.

“Oh.” Feemor huffed in self-depreciating amusement, and bowed his head in thanks. “Sorry. I just got back in.”

Master Qui-Gon had already settled in, seated perpendicular to him and across from Xanatos. He gave Feemor another glowing smile and shook his head. “It’s no problem, padawan. I know what it’s like to be fresh off of a mission, feeling hungry, tired, and restless in equal measure.”

Warmth radiated from him along with a vibrant feeling of _all is well, things are good_. It was never more apparent than Master Qui-Gon was a paragon of the Living Force, for that sense of renewal and life was all around him, as soothing as a forest rain and as calming as the plants that filled the suite. 

And like that, Feemor was a fresh faced initiate again with Master Qui-Gon looking at him like he could change the world. Force, how little it took to remember why he’d adored his master so much. Everything in his padawanship had been perfect. 

Right up until it wasn’t. 

He wondered if all padawans felt this way about their masters. Maybe he was just remembering it a bit differently then it had happened. Hindsight was like that, after all. 

Feemor kept any hint of the bittersweetness in his heart buried deep behind his very excellent shields. 

“Still. Thank you,” Feemor said, going back to prodding at his soup, slower this time.

Master Qui-Gon sipped his tea while Xanatos pretended -- poorly -- to work on his homework. 

“Is everything alright?” Master Qui-Gon asked.

It was a valid question. Shared meals like this were so unusual that it was laughable. 

With Feemor, anyways. Master Qui-Gon had friends. Master Micah and Master Tahl, for example. They often joined Master Qui-Gon for meals -- or at least they had when Feemor was a padawan. He doubted that this had changed. 

This was another respect in which Master Qui-Gon was more like Master Dooku than he ever wanted to admit. Master Qui-Gon and Master Tahl very obviously loved each other. They also very obviously attempted to keep that little fact in the realm of an open secret, always pussyfooting around each other like the galaxy might crumble if they ever held hands in public. 

For Force’s sake, Feemor didn’t know why they didn’t just pair bond and get it over with. Master Yoda would bitch up a storm, no doubt, and they’d get a little extra prodding as the High Council determined that they were sufficiently dedicated to their duties, and then that would be the end of it. Master Qui-Gon wasn’t called ‘The Maverick’ for nothing; this extra step in their relationship wouldn’t even be that out of character.

As things were, Master Qui-Gon and Master Tahl were so damn obvious that Feemor almost wanted to find a pair bonded couple somewhere in the Temple and plead for them to go hammer a clue into Master Qui-Gon’s head. It was only the fact that he knew that Master Qui-Gon was as stubborn as a rock that ensured he didn’t bother. Any prodding at all would only make him dig in his heels.

He also had a side bet running with some of the other knights about when their pairing would finally be made public. Feemor had bet on ‘the day after never’. 

At least Master Dooku and Master Sifo-Dyas were subtle enough that even Feemor, as attentive and shrewd as he was, could only speculate about how deep their friendship went. And Feemor was closer to those two than most people in the Temple were, though that really wasn’t saying much. 

Master Qui-Gon could learn a few things from his old master still, if the two of them could sit in a room together without debating until the sun came up. Rumor had it that relations between them had improved; Feemor would believe it when he saw it. 

But all this information was just a stark reminder that it wasn’t that Master Qui-Gon didn’t do small social gatherings. It was just that Master Qui-Gon didn’t do small social gatherings with _Feemor_.

While all of this swirled around in Feemor’s head, he ate his soup and used that as an excuse to not answer his old master right away.

“I’m…” Feemor grimaced, and debated about the pros and cons of appearing weak to both Master Qui-Gon and Xanatos. Sith-hells, it was a straight toss up if the little snob would use it as a further excuse to look down his nose at Feemor, or if it would finally sink into his skull that Jedi aren’t perfect and he doesn’t need to pretend to be so. Not to mention the fact that if Master Qui-Gon decided that he needed a lecture rather than encouragement, Feemor was tired enough that he might actually stab him.

“It was a long assignment,” he finished with a weary slump of his shoulders that was only partially faked. “There’s nothing particularly wrong; I was just hoping to see some familiar faces for a while.”

That held the advantage of even being partially true. He _had_ been thinking of that earlier. 

Master Qui-Gon accepted this with a nod.

“Tell me about your day,” Feemor said. “I’m tired of thinking of work.”

That made Master Qui-Gon smile, as he’d hoped it would. He often approved of some carefully measured goofing off, provided that it wasn’t his student who was doing it. 

“Alright, my old padawan.”

The next hour or two passed in a stream of inconsequential anecdotes. While part of Feemor was cataloging trends in that narration and mentally flagging tidbits to follow up on later, a large part of him just sat and reveled in the quiet peace of a family meal. 

The experience felt like stretching a bruised muscle: oddly painful and yet still weirdly cathartic.

By the time he excused himself with many thanks for Master Qui-Gon’s time, Feemor had been thoroughly reminded why he both longed for and avoided his old master’s company. 

\--

His next stop, despite his weariness, was the nearest Temple commissary that specialized in foodstuffs. 

Non-perishable home goods such as furniture and clothing and dishes and the like were obtained from the Quartermaster, in the Hall of Requisitions. Extra items that Knights or Masters brought back from missions were sent there to be redistributed. There were also fabricators for new goods, and were manned by Jedi who were skilled in a variety trades. Any item that a Jedi might need for day to day living or for missions could be found there.

Perishable goods were distributed in several places in the Temple, and those distribution points were often coupled with cantinas or small dining areas. There was a major dining hall with a large grocer attached which serviced much of the population. The offshoot locations tended to specialize in distinct flavors or types of produce. 

Feemor went to one of the offshoots that he was familiar with.

This was a chore that could easily have been pushed off for a later date. His food situation wasn’t even close to dire yet. 

What couldn’t wait was the gossip. Temple commissaries were an excellent place for gossip, both from eavesdropping and from chatting with the Jedi who worked there. This late at night, the commissaries would be less crowded, which meant that Feemor would have an easier time of gathering information. 

He lingered over his acquisitions, packing various items into a borrowed bag that he’d picked up at the commissary. Not too much; he didn’t really know how long he would get before the next mission. When his bag of goods was as full as he wanted it to be, he headed over to one of the scanning areas. The goods here were free to residents of the Temple, but each commissary liked to keep track of which items were being used and at what frequency. It helped the Quartermaster plan and budget. So everyone did their part and left their bags on a scanner for a moment or two before leaving.

Feemor very purposely chose the scanning station that had a Jedi working at it, tallying the evening totals. 

It was a simple matter to draw them into conversation and ask for the latest news. He’d been away on mission, after all, and that kind of request was normal. The Temple gossip mill was worse than the Coruscant tabloids, if generally more accurate.

This was an unexpected gold mine. Feemor found himself genuinely shocked at the rumors. 

There was something about there being a stray initiate on Mandalore. Or maybe a lost padawan. No one was sure. What or whoever it was, they stopped a group of Jedi Knights from blundering into a Mandalorian firefight. Several High Councilors had been sent out to evaluate the situation.

This, Feemor knew something about, and -- _he thought_ \-- it dovetailed into his own recent mission.

What was surprising was the information that the Order had sent knights and masters to help the Mandalorians with a civil war. _Mandalorians_. Historically, they _hated_ the Jedi. 

The civil war was won, and in record time, and now the famed Master Dooku was permanently stationed on Mandalore. The Temple was practically buzzing with what that would mean for the Order.

No Jedi freely ventured into the Mandalore Sector. Not officially, anyways. Feemor suspected that a Shadow or two might give it a go if the situation were dire. 

Now, suddenly Mandalore was open to the Order. There had already been a visit, which Feemor knew to be Master Sifo-Dyas and the unnamed initiate, based on the messages that had been waiting for him. The knights who’d been assigned to helping with the civil war had all been invited back. One was still recovering in the Halls of Healing, and apparently was making very loud noises about packing a bag and heading right back as soon as they were able. 

Feemor staggered out of the commissary in a bit of a daze. 

Alliance with Mandalore. _Alliance_. That was more than just a passing fancy or a knight’s posting. 

Kark, that put Master Windu’s message in a new light. The shatterpoints on that whole fiasco had to be huge. 

Plus, Master Dooku had said that he’d found a sparring partner. 

Master Dooku was one of the best duelists in the Order. Top five, for sure. So if someone was a good sparring partner for him, then they _had_ to be a master. 

Which meant that Mandalore had a Force using master. Maybe a Jedi, maybe not. Feemor had traveled too much in the galaxy to think that the Order was the only group that followed the will of the Force. 

Thoughts spiraled through Feemor’s brain. He trudged his way to his rooms in a fog and only just barely remembered to put the cold items away properly. 

There was too much to consider. The balance of power in the galaxy was shifting, and doing so in ways that had been unheard of for centuries. 

Feemor was not prone to visions. His talents lay in the Living Force, though he wasn’t the adept that Master Qui-Gon was. 

Still. This whole situation _felt_ big. He could sense, dimly, how the tendrils of it stretched all across the galaxy, and far into the future. 

And his lineage was at the heart of it. Somehow. 

He collapsed into bed as soon as he could, though sleep was hard coming. Hours passed as he stared at the darkened ceiling, examining and discarding theories as he pieced together what he knew.

Tomorrow, he would go talk to Master Windu and the High Council. He would deliver his report, and glean as much information as he could from them. 

It was possible that they would have an immediate follow up mission for him. Unless it was particularly pressing, Feemor would request time off. Ostensibly, he would say that he wanted to rest up. He _had_ been out of the temple for months, after all. A long rest would be routine. In truth, he wanted to talk to Master Plo. 

He wanted to wait in the Temple until Master Sifo-Dyas came back with the initiate, and gather some more information from them as well. It would be easy enough to arrange tea with Master Sifo-Dyas. He wasn’t quite as sure that it would be wise for him to approach the initiate. 

After that…

Well. Then he might need to take an unofficial trip to Mandalore, and see for himself what the sith-hells was going on.

\--


End file.
